


chasing your shadow

by FunAndWhimsy



Series: into the dawn [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Pining, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunAndWhimsy/pseuds/FunAndWhimsy
Summary: Everything Hubert and Edelgard have worked so hard for is finally within reach, but just as their hands close around the prize Edelgard is struck down. With Hubert's purpose in life gone, and Edelgard's so close to completion, he must hold the grief that threatens to overtake him at bay until he can ensure total victory. Luckily for him, there are people who want nothing more than to help - but those same people might not be happy about his plans to once again follow the Emperor he devoted his life to as soon as her legacy is secure. (Prequel)
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: into the dawn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625716
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	chasing your shadow

Everything happens, as it so often does in battle, so fast it might as well be simultaneous. Byleth lashes the Immaculate One with his sword; it roars, a wretched sound that seems to shake the world itself beneath them, and lashes out with its great tail. It's a futile effort, simply the enraged flailing of a creature that knows it's already dead, but the tail catches Edelgard and flings her into the wall with a smack Hubert can hear all the way back here. The false goddess is dead, the fight is over at last, and Linhardt warps to her side in the space between one blink and the next. Hubert spares a smile for Bernadetta next to him, the rare version of Bernadetta one only gets to see post-battle, all her fear replaced with adrenaline, red in the cheeks, sweaty and glowing with triumph, breath heaving, a certain fire in her eyes that sends Hubert's head reeling. This Bernadetta only gets to live for a few moments; her answering smile is already tentative, tinged with worry about something he can't begin to guess at.

"Is it really - did we - "

"Dorothea, we need you!" Byleth shouts.

Hubert frowns as out of the corner of his eye he sees Ferdinand race his horse to Dorothea, pull her onto the back, and bring her to the corpse of the beast at a gallop. No, to Edelgard, still on the ground unmoving. Linhardt isn't one to overexert himself even in the nastiest fights, it's odd he would run out of healing magic and need help - but then, this was an unusually difficult fight. Hubert urges Hemlock forward; he should be at Edelgard’s side when she awakens to witness her triumph. Beside him, Bernadetta does the same, still in combat mode and conditioned to stay close and help take down his foes before they can strike.

"I don't think that will help," Linhardt says. He's frowning, hands glowing as he runs them over Edelgard's still form. She's pale, impossibly pale, and the already sizable pool of blood underneath her is growing by the second. Her head is - the angle of her neck is all wrong, her arms and legs not quite right either. Dorothea kneels in the blood next to Linhardt, her brow creasing in concentration as her hands begin to glow as well. Hubert is having trouble breathing.

"Byleth," Dorothea says, and something about her tone, how gentle it is, so unlike the way Dorothea usually offers news people don't want to hear - Hubert knows. It's difficult to strike a single blow to take someone beyond the help of even the most powerful healing magic, but Edelgard had been charging ahead as she so often does, ignoring every blow as she so often does, and even from a distance Hubert could see how difficult the fight was for those on the front lines, how draining.

"No," Byleth says. "One more."

"I don't think - "

" _One more_. We have to - no. One more."

"I don't think he's talking to us," Linhardt says quietly, and just as quietly he stops trying. The glow fades from his hands, and a moment later from Dorothea's as well.

"Then it was a mistake. We must - only one more, that's all. It won't - "

"Byleth," Linhardt says, rising to place a bloody hand on their professor's shoulder.

"Ferdinand," Bernadetta calls, from somewhere far away. How did she - when did she go so far? She was so close only a moment ago. "We need you."

Someone else must be badly injured, so far away. Ferdinand won't be much help with that, though perhaps - it would be unlike Bernadetta to spirit him away right now for a tryst, not the type to crave physical satisfaction after a hard fight. They've just won the war, though, everything, so perhaps - maybe she would - 

"Easy," Ferdinand says, somewhere far away as well; Hubert isn't sure how he can even hear Ferdinand's voice, as quietly as he seems to be talking, from such a distance. "I have you."

Hubert falls from his horse into strong arms, and the world goes dark around him.

-

" - busy with the wounded. He'll be alright a little longer," Bernadetta says.

"You're certain he is not concealing a wound?" Ferdinand asks. He sounds upset.

"As certain as I'm going to be without fully undressing him," she says. "I can turn my back if you want to check."

There is a long pause, long enough Hubert would think Ferdinand had left if he couldn't hear the restless pacing of footsteps too heavy to be Bernadetta's. So she must be the one responsible for the cool cloth on his forehead, the gentle pressure that reminds him he’s not simply floating in a void.

"No," he says, finally. "I know, I am just - that could have been a nasty fall."

"But it wasn't."

"Fussing over me, von Aegir?" Hubert asks, opening one eye and raising an eyebrow with it. "Very sweet."

"Hubert," he says, turning mid-pace to look at him, face caught somewhere odd between relief and worry. "I - it is good to see you awake."

The cool cloth leaves his forehead as Hubert opens his other eye, but returns only a moment later, even cooler. A weight shifts on the cot and Hubert turns to see Bernadetta sitting there, looking at him with that same anxious face. It's less strange, on her, but still - 

"How much do you remember?" she asks.

Had he taken a knock on the head, then? There's no pain, but an odd sort of fuzziness to his thoughts, usually so sharp and precise. 

"I - " he stops for a moment, allows his memories to catch up with his mouth. The chaos of another hard-fought battle; the great beast's death throes; Edelgard. _Edelgard_. He sits up, the cool cloth dropping into his lap, and Bernadetta scrambles out of the way as he tries to hurry off the cot.

"All of it, then?" Ferdinand asks, as Hubert's knees buckle; Bernadetta catches him, so surprisingly strong. "Whoa."

"Easy," Bernadetta says, and helps him steady himself before letting go. She doesn't move too far, right there in case he falls again; he would find that infuriating from anyone else, that they would expect any weakness in him even after seeing evidence.

"So there was truly nothing to be done?"

"Linhardt tried having his whole battalion work together at it," Ferdinand says. "He did everything - "

"Linhardt was also responsible for keeping everyone healed during the fight, and clearly neglected that duty," Hubert says, "or she wouldn't have been so vulnerable."

"If it will make you feel better to scold someone, you will have to choose another target. If Linhardt is still dealing with the wounded, he cannot be distracted, and if he has finished he will be with Byleth."

"Alright, then," Hubert says, stalks forward a little and draws himself up to his full height. "Where were you? It was your recommendation I stay back with Bernadetta rather than by my lady's side, which was obviously a miscalculation on your part. Tell me, did you fail to prioritize her safety properly because you're a fool, or because you were simply incapable?"

"Hubert - " Bernadetta says, but Ferdinand puts up a hand to quiet her. Because Ferdinand, damn him, knows what Hubert needs, and how to offer it up so Hubert can't resist. How cruel of him, to suggest all Hubert needs is to yell to feel better, and how frustrating to make himself the target when Hubert is perfectly capable of determining who is most at fault on his own. If he were less contemptibly easy to manipulate with a smug face and a targeted phrase he would march out of here right now to rip their useless healer limb from limb. Let Byleth try to stop him - either Hubert would fight him off and succeed at administering a fitting punishment, or he would die at the hands of someone else who failed to save her and join his lady in whatever afterlife awaits them.

Hubert doesn't leave the tent; Ferdinand steps into his space so their noses are nearly touching, puffing his chest out as if he needs any assistance to appear larger than Hubert.

"I was where I was supposed to be," he says, "well out of range. Edelgard knew the shape she was in, and the range of the creature's movement, and the likelihood Byleth would strike a death blow and it would die quietly. Was I a fool for falling back, or was she for failing to?"

"You _dare_ to - " Hubert is so incandescently furious he can't even finish his sentence, blasting Ferdinand with Dark Spikes nearly before he's made the conscious decision to. He is dimly aware of Bernadetta leaving the tent before all his attention is taken with Ferdinand tackling him to the ground and punching him in the face so hard Hubert can hear bone shattering beneath his fists. It should hurt, of course it should, but Hubert is so furious he can feel nothing at all.

-

Dorothea's fingers are cool against Hubert's heated skin; he knows she doesn't need to touch to heal, necessarily, but he didn't argue when she pressed her hand to his broken jaw and he isn't complaining now. She looks - well. She's been crying, of course, for how long he can only guess, and she's clearly exhausted from helping tend to the wounded after the battle. No one would have blamed her for retreating to her tent the moment Edelgard's death was confirmed, and yet.

"What a brute," she says, and perhaps Hubert should argue, make clear that Ferdinand was, in his own obnoxious way that runs unfortunately in tandem with Hubert's own wretched needs, helping, but it's difficult to explain. He and Dorothea have always bonded best over a shared exasperation with the man, anyway, there’s no need for that to change just because he’s far less exasperating than he used to be.

"Tempers are high," Hubert says, and she snorts. "Thank you for taking the time."

"I - " Dorothea says, and looks away, her hand falling from Hubert's perfectly healed face. "I'm grateful for the company, I think. Or for something to do, or - I threw a shoe at Byleth, when he tried to check on me earlier, but you aren't - I want to be alone, but I'm a little afraid to be. So thank you for the excuse."

Hubert nods. He should say something here, he thinks, some words of comfort for the only other person who might understand the depth of his feeling, from the only person who can understand hers, but there is nothing. What comfort is there, in a world that would take her at the moment of her greatest triumph? Edelgard won't get to see the fruits of her labors, the results of a life's work, won't get to ascend the throne and rule over the world she's envisioned for so long, won't - he has no comfort to offer. And Dorothea, he thinks, wouldn't want him to pretend. Other people will have pretty words for her, and warm embraces, other people will mend her broken heart in time.

"You will be taken care of," Hubert says, sure it's not the right thing but uncomfortable in the growing silence. That hasn't been her focus for a long time, even if it ever truly was. "I'll make sure of it."

"Oh, Hubie," she says, and reaches for his hand, squeezes it. "That's not - thank you."

"I could stay for a while, if you'd like."

"I won't be very good company," she says, lets go of his hand.

"Nor will I." Hubert reaches for the ever-present notebook and pen tucked into his armor; he has planning to do, lest the Empire be left leaderless long enough for someone to think making a move would be wise. "You'll hardly know I'm here."

"But you will be," she says, and gives him a sad little smile before retreating to her cot. "I - thank you, Hubert."

Hubert nods, and though he notices the careful way she arranges her pillows - one she holds against her body, as she might a lover, and the other she takes a deep, deep breath of - and the few quiet sobs that escape before sleep overtakes her, he will take those secrets to his grave.

-

It's part of Hubert's job to notice everything, and he's extremely, impossibly good at his job. So he has noticed, over the years, the slow shift in Bernadetta's behavior around him. There were the obvious ones, of course, when she stopped finding him outright terrifying and again when he elected to become a dark knight and they began fighting as a unit, but smaller changes as well, from classmates to allies to friends to - well. To closer friends. To the very specific sort of friends two people become when one crafts the other a clever little piece of embroidery, and affixes it to his cloak, and shows him her own that matches, and looks up at him with a sweet smile and eyes that seem to beg him to make his feelings known, and then announces she is courting Ferdinand von Aegir.

As she should, of course. She's happy with him, seems to glow in his presence, and has for quite some time. They complement each other well on any number of levels, and certainly Hubert hasn't failed to notice the change in Ferdinand's face when he looks at her, a softening of his eyes and upward turn of his lips, or the way his gaze follows her around the room. He adores her, as she should be adored, and vice versa, and there is no resentment in the noticing of any of these things. They’re simply true, and there, and so he notices them, as he notices the way she’s kept an eye on him since the final battle.

Bernadetta looks at Hubert when he leaves his tent, makes her excuses to Petra, and starts picking her way around the camp towards him. Another shift - in the day or so since Edelgard fell, she has behaved as if bound to him by magic, a spell that causes her pain or distress if she gets too far from him.

"You slept through lunch," she says, when she reaches him.

"I wasn't sleeping," he says. "I was working."

"Did you eat?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't matter," she says. "I can - "

"You are going to collapse if you keep working through meals," Ferdinand says, appearing plate-first at Hubert's side. 

"I'm not hungry," Hubert says. Ferdinand simply thrusts the plate at him more forcefully, determined to give it to him. Another thing that's shifted, though Hubert has a harder time determining the reason for this one. Ferdinand has always had a supernatural sense for where Hubert is; he used to use it simply to annoy, but over time he has largely used it to seek out debate if he's unsure of an opinion, or to make sure Hubert got the lance training he needed to become a dark knight, or simply for conversation. Now he's taking advantage to badger Hubert into such things as eating, sleeping, or fighting with Ferdinand rather than someone less deserving who will take it more personally.

"Bernie, my love, did I ask if he was hungry?"

"I know it isn't very good," she says, ignoring Ferdinand even while her stance changes so she's leaning slightly in his direction. "But if it's something important enough to work on when you _should_ be recovering, it's important enough to eat so you have the energy for it."

"I think she has you there," Ferdinand says.

"Oh, shut up," Hubert says, but he takes the plate and doesn't miss Ferdinand's pleased, proud grin. It's either been well-wrapped or reheated, warm though lunch was a good two hours ago, and isn't piled high the way that always makes Hubert feel a bit guilty for his small appetite. That's the problem of Ferdinand, really, he's as observant and thoughtful as he is aggravating. 

Hubert looks between the two of them, Bernadetta and her quiet, consistent concern, Ferdinand and his way of pushing in until a situation is resolved to everyone’s satisfaction, and for a moment he is transported to the future, or at least _a_ future; a golden crown gleaming against orange waves, and a Fódlan still united through sheer force of will, guided onto the correct path with a gentle hand as deft with a nation as with a needle. 

"I - " he says, and looks between them again, identical looks of concern on their very different faces as he stands there and does nothing. "Thank you."

Hubert ducks back into his tent and leaves them to no doubt worry about him some more; it doesn't matter. He has work to do, after he eats.

\- 

The war camp is breaking down, piece by piece, their considerable army headed back for Enbarr then on to everywhere else they've come from. Edelgard's body, carefully preserved by Hubert's engineers under his own supervision, is en route as well, guarded by the engineers and her own Supreme Armored Company. By early evening only those assigned to help clean up Fhirdiad and maintain order will remain, and soon all traces of the battle that took Hubert's purpose from him will be gone. 

Hubert closes his eyes and lets the emptiness spread for a moment, the great yawning void that threatens to overtake him entirely. He lost her once and swore never again; the Immaculate One made him a liar. His own distractions, his own failures, made him a liar. And he will see himself punished for it, in due time, but his duty to her is not yet finished. There is the matter of her future, the shining vision she came so close to bringing into reality, and the matter of the revenge she so richly deserved, to attend to first. 

Dorothea is leaning against a low wall near Ferdinand's tent, dressed in a blouse (too loose in the shoulders, too tight in the bust) and trousers (strained around her hips) Hubert recognizes as belonging to Edelgard, a red ribbon in her hair. A living ghost, or a walking memorial; Hubert wonders if those clothes still smell like Edelgard. What Dorothea would do if he leaned to her shoulder and breathed it in just to check. Understand, probably, she's always had an immense capacity for grasping the motives of those around her. She looks up as he approaches, and goes a little red in the face.

"Is everything - " Hubert begins, but is cut off by a high, sharp moan from inside the tent. Ah.

"I know what it looks like," Dorothea says, when Hubert raises his eyebrow at her. "I wanted to ask Bernie something, but when I got here, she was, well, busy."

"And you intend to wait them out?" Hubert leans against the wall next to her.

Dorothea sighs. "No, I just - it's nice, isn't it? That they're happy? That someone is?"

Most of the time - all of the time, up until this very moment - Hubert detests being around happy people reveling in their own happiness. Their time at Garreg Mach was frequently unbearable for exactly that reason, so many people with no idea what was coming and why, living such tiny lives with such insignificant ups and downs, feeling them all so _strongly_. And it was only last night he had to suppress the sudden urge to vomit, or to stab something when he walked past a campfire where Byleth and Linhardt were wrapped up in each other.

"It can be," he says. That's still no reason to be here listening like voyeurs, vampires feeding off the joy of others, but Dorothea doesn't make a move to leave and Hubert - well. He enjoys her company, is an easy reason, a convincing one, and doesn't necessarily wish to leave her alone with her sadness whether she claims this is helping or not. And it’s not as if there’s anyone here asking him to explain himself, not as if the only person who knows him well enough to see what’s happening is alive to tease him.

Bernadetta moans from inside the tent, and stammers Ferdinand's name, though she can't quite manage the whole thing so it comes out as _Fer-Fer-Ferdinanngh_. Of course she's having trouble speaking, of course she's overwhelmed; who wouldn't be? Ferdinand is intense, in everything he does, intense and observant and so overly concerned with being the best. He likely considers it a failure if he achieves anything less than total incoherence from his partner. And for Bernadetta, so shy, so closed off, so quiet, to be so loud in her pleasure - what would it be like, to have that kind of attention turned on him? Or to be the one to make her cry out for everyone to hear? 

Hubert shakes his head, disgusted with himself; he can feel how red his face is, how warm. Unacceptable, to get this carried away, to be here at all. At least Dorothea doesn't seem to notice, staring off somewhere in the distance, mind a million miles away. Hubert has things to do, and that's the least of all reasons he shouldn't be standing here, but he can't quite will his feet to move even as he forces his heartbeat to return to normal.

"You may be the only person I know who ever hated Ferdinand as much as I did," Hubert says, forcing himself back on track.

"Maybe," she says, and laughs. "I doubt we were the only ones. But he grew on me."

"He does that, I suppose," Hubert says. "I'm curious - would you follow him?"

Dorothea tilts her head a little, shrugs. "That would depend where he tried to lead me."

"Into a new age," Hubert says; it doesn't sound as good, as inspiring, coming from him as it did from Edelgard. "Hers, ideally."

"I guess somebody has to," she says. "And we could do worse."

"Could we do better?"

"Given all the time in the world? Maybe. Do you want me to talk you out of it?"

"No," Hubert says. "I think I just needed to say it out loud."

Dorothea nods. "And now you have."

"I have," Hubert says. Ferdinand groans, low and throaty, and Hubert pushes the image that appears fully-formed in his mind away as quickly as it comes. "I - there will be a place for you, if you'd like. Whatever you'd like."

"Oh," Dorothea says, and makes a face. "No, I'm done. I never - I would've given her all I had, everything. If she fired all her advisers and asked me to provide her only counsel, I would have, gladly. But no one else is Edelgard, and no one else is getting anything other than a few pretty songs out of me."

She smiles at him, and the full force of her grief, her loneliness, is so obvious in that smile it nearly takes his breath away. He nods; he may not have quite her gift for understanding people, but he knows enough. There is so little left in Edelgard's wake, so little she didn't at least cast a light on left inside him, and the emptiness threatens to take even that. Dorothea has a person she was before, someone she might be able to become again, and Hubert will see to it nothing stands in her way. She reaches out to squeeze his shoulder and walks away, leaving him in the quiet with his thoughts.

It's a dangerous place for Hubert to be, right now. Too much anger, too much doubt, too much of the grief that wants to swallow him whole and leave nothing behind. He casts about for a distraction, but everyone is occupied with packing up their tents to leave, and there are very few people he has the patience for now anyway. So he sighs, and makes a poor choice; he goes around to the front of the tent, and taps his foot against one of the poles in lieu of knocking.

"Yes?" Ferdinand's voice is a little hoarse, just enough so if Hubert didn’t know better he’d assume Ferdinand was only just waking from a nap. 

"May I come in?"

"Er," Ferdinand says; there has to be a better time to do this. "Is it urgent?"

"It's important," Hubert says. Rustling from within, and whispers.

"Give us a moment," Ferdinand says, eventually. Hubert nods, though neither of them can see it, and does his best to ignore the sounds of their scrambling to get dressed, Bernadetta hissing about how she can't find her dress, Ferdinand banging into something and cursing. He should have left and come back, or waited until Enbarr. But what if something were to happen on the road, or if some force of zealots is waiting at the capitol?

Ferdinand pokes his head out of the front of the tent, finally, a little red in the face, long hair messy and tousled. He pulls the flap aside, and Hubert enters to see Bernadetta sitting on the bed in one of Ferdinand's shirts, cheeks pink, and Ferdinand only in his trousers and coat. 

"Whatever is the matter?" Ferdinand asks, and it's not until he does Hubert thinks of the way they've been hovering around him since the battle ended, how little he's been taking care of himself, how worried they've been, and realizes the most likely reason they didn't just send him away when they're so clearly unfit for company. 

"Oh," he says, "no, nothing. I simply needed to talk to you."

Ferdinand exchanges a look Hubert can't read with Bernadetta and sits on the edge of the bed with her. "Alright."

"We're in a difficult position," he says, "and we have limited time to ensure history doesn't remember this war as solely powered by one person's determination and vision, true as that may or may not be. Word will already be spreading that we are without a head, and it won't be long before forces move to take advantage. I have no doubt, given the state of the continent, we could continue to repel attacks as ably as we have been so far, but we've already expended so many resources and rebuilding will be difficult enough. It would be ideal to arrive back at the capitol with new leadership in place, and leave no room for opportunists to stake a claim or attempt to rise against us."

"Agreed," Ferdinand says. "What do you need from us?"

"I need you to say yes," Hubert says, slipping a signet ring from his pocket. "To accept the burden I'm about to place on you."

"You alone?" Ferdinand asks. “It is not necessarily your burden to place.”

"We can have a meeting," Hubert says. "We can argue about it for days, while our enemies prepare. You and I both know this is the answer we would arrive at."

"You have that much faith in me?" Ferdinand asks.

An impossible question; Hubert doesn't have faith in things. But he knows devotion, and he knows what happens when he devotes himself to the success of one person above all, and he knows he needs to find that person soon before he's doomed forever by the loss of the last one. 

Hubert kneels, because saying yes would be a lie and so would saying no, kneels at Ferdinand's feet and holds out the ring. It needs polishing - Edelgard never had it sized, wore it on a chain around her neck because she preferred her own symbols - but it's the best Hubert has. All he has to offer is a token and his entire being, and all he can do is hope Ferdinand understands.

Ferdinand rises, and holds out his hand. Hubert slips the ring on his right index finger, a surprisingly good fit, and then in a fit of impulse kisses it. He can't quite read the meaning of Bernadetta's soft sigh, or the look in Ferdinand's eyes when Hubert lifts his own to meet them, but it doesn't matter. He has begun his task of seeing Edelgard's future secured, and he is certain all the way down to his bones he's started well.

-

The Strike Force falls into an easy formation with Ferdinand in the lead as they ride back to Enbarr, though from Dorothea's satisfied nod at their positions before climbing on behind Petra Hubert suspects it's not entirely coincidental. No one raises a complaint, or so much as shoots a dirty look in Ferdinand or Hubert's direction, so unless someone in the Strike Force is more ambitious and a better liar than Hubert knows, all is good on that front. Bernadetta rides by Ferdinand's side for a while, but eventually falls back next to Hubert.

Hubert's a much stronger rider than he used to be, thanks in no small part to working with Ferdinand, and though bandits and mercenaries have been a common enough threat on the roads these last five years they appear to have heard of the end of the war like everyone else and the ride is a peaceful one. Peaceful and long, a wretched combination when Hubert is so precariously balanced on the edge. He resorts to a game he used to play as a small child, training himself, and every time his thoughts begin to wander he turns his attention to his fellow riders, challenges himself to determine something about them with a quick observation.

Caspar is sitting awkwardly on his horse (more injured in the final battle than he was willing to admit, and not healed up as he should be); Petra's pegasus is just a hair unsteady, its altitude changing minutely from time to time (she's far more concerned with Dorothea than with watching the skies); Byleth is staring straight ahead, as vacant of expression as he was when he first came to the monastery (though, if he's honest, Hubert has no idea whether that means he's feeling something so strongly he's retreated for his own safety, or he feels whatever task brought him alive is finished and that's just how he is without a project); Bernadetta keeps stealing glances at him.

"Do you want something?" Hubert asks, in a tone he used to avoid with her lest it make her faint. She flushes, caught, but her face doesn't betray any particular fear. It's good to check, sometimes, to test.

"I, ah," she says. "I just - I trust you."

"But?" Hubert says.

"Ah, uh, I - I - it's not you," Bernadetta says. "I just get worried, and I need to - it helps, if I can make sure I'm worrying about nothing."

"You don't need to worry about me," Hubert says. It won't satisfy her, of course, and certainly not if she knew why Hubert doesn't believe he merits her concern, how long he intends to be around to be the subject of it, but she did ask, and there’s no use worrying her further.

"I know," she says. "Or - I know you think that. I'm not - it's not - is this - is everything going to be okay? Or not - goddess, so much isn't okay, but I mean with Ferdinand. He's safe? This isn't part of some bigger plan that's going to put him in danger, or take everything away from him?"

Hubert nearly winces, but with a lifetime of practice he's quite good at keeping his reactions in check and manages to keep his face neutral. He is used to the _but_ that comes after _I trust you_ nearly every time, from nearly everyone but Edelgard, and he knows it isn't personal. Anyone trusting him too completely, knowing even what little Bernadetta knows of what he does, would be a fool. But he wouldn't hurt her like that, wouldn't hurt either of them, and it - well. It's only his own fault, if she doesn't know that yet. Hubert fiddles absently with the flower pinned to his cloak.

"I won't lie to you and say I wouldn't do that," Hubert says, finally. "But I don't see what the benefit would be, in this case, and Ferdinand's far too important to risk like that. Er, valuable. As an asset."

Bernadetta nods. "I didn't want to - I'm sorry. I promise it's not about you, I just - I get so mad at him sometimes."

Hubert raises his eyebrow. "Oh? Would you _like_ me to put him in some danger, for however he's slighted you? I'm sure between us we could come up with something appropriate."

Thankfully, Bernadetta laughs; it's hard to tell with her sometimes, when a joke will serve as just a joke. 

"I'm so afraid of everything all the time," she says. "I know I'm - I pretend better, now, but I don't know if I really _am_ any better. No matter how hard I try, all I can see is the worst that can happen, and there's _so much “worst”_. And when I'm scared for myself I can hide, or find someone who makes me feel safe, but there isn't anything I can do when I'm afraid for him, and I'm so much more afraid for him than for me."

Hubert doesn't miss the way her eyes drop to the flower on his cloak when she mentions people who make her feel safe, nor can he fully ignore the rush of warmth at the thought he's become that for her. He doesn't know how to explain the thing that seems so obvious to him, that as long as he wears this particular badge he will make every single thing she fears his personal enemy, that he doesn't take his duty lightly. 

"I've seen you in battle," he says. "I happen to be intimately familiar with many of the things you can do when a threat closes in, and I have a distinct lack of scars from the battles we've faced side-by-side to speak to your efficacy. But you know you're not helpless."

"So I'll carry a bow and lance at all times and, what, put an arrow through the poisoned cup of tea after he drinks it?" There is a glimpse of battlefield Bernadetta as she talks, the fiery adrenaline-fueled terror that strikes down foes before they even know there is a danger; Hubert isn’t worried.

"I may have failed Edelgard," Hubert says, and puts his hand up to cut her off when she opens her mouth to console him, "but I did devote my life to her safety and success. I know a thing or two about protecting a monarch, even - especially - one who seems convinced they need no such protection. You could simply trust me to do as I have done, or when we return to Enbarr we can begin your training."

"I - " Bernadetta says, turns to look at the back of Ferdinand's head for a long time and then back to smile, small and awkward, at Hubert. "I would like that, thank you."

"It would be my pleasure," Hubert says, and watches her speed up to rejoin Ferdinand at the head of the group.

-

Being back at the Imperial Palace hovers right on the line between comforting and torturous. Every good memory Hubert has here is tied to Edelgard, so her absence seems to grow and multiply until he's suffocating under its weight. He hasn't even gone to his own rooms yet, or hers; Ferdinand and Bernadetta are in the Emperor's suite, which Edelgard never moved into, and Hubert has taken the quarters closest to theirs. Perhaps he'll just have the old ones locked up, Edelgard's in memory of her and his own of the man he was when he was hers.

Still, it's nice to sleep in a familiar bed again, to walk the familiar halls and slip down well-known hidden passages, to drink his coffee from cups whose handles feel molded to his hands. Ferdinand spent an overabundance of time here in his youth, of course, but as Edelgard's influence grew and the council's shrank in comparison, Count Varley came to court less and less frequently. He was never the type to bring his family, certainly not the daughter he thought to mold into an obedient wife, so Hubert often takes Bernadetta's arm and shows her around. She is timid, still, in new places, when she hasn't learned the best places to hide or learned to feel safe, and it soothes something deep and long-broken in Hubert to teach her how to think of the palace as her home. Ferdinand accompanies them on these little tours, on occasion, so sickeningly besotted he's happy to leave the stables or less urgent duties to spend time with her; when Hubert finds something that delights her so much she squeals Ferdinand smiles at him a certain way, soft and pleased and grateful, and Hubert's knees nearly go out from under him at the rush.

They can be happy here, he thinks, if all goes well eliminating the biggest risk for Ferdinand's reign. It would be nice, if once before the nobility is dismantled, before a new way in line with what Edelgard wanted takes its place, someone has a good life in this place. 

With the rest of the Strike Force staying at the Palace, it's almost like being back at Garreg Mach. And Garreg Mach in the good times, too, when even Hubert was occasionally capable of acknowledging the battle to come was in the future and he could perhaps participate in something like a normal life. Byleth presides over daily war meetings where they begin to plan Fódlan's reconstruction and Hubert starts doling out information bit by bit on Those Who Slither In The Dark and the war to come; Petra takes a wyvern and a small party to hunt nearby, frequently joined by Ferdinand; Caspar trains so often Hubert needs to stay away from the training grounds lest he be reminded too viscerally of Edelgard and her own devotion. Bernadetta pouts when the cooks don't let her interfere with the daily meal preparations and Dorothea almost, almost laughs reminding her if she's going to be in charge around here she's going to have to learn to put her foot down. Hubert thinks only briefly of smothering Linhardt with a pillow for his failure to perform a resurrection miracle on the battlefield when he finds him sleeping in the library, and only the first few times. 

And Hubert can see the future stretching out ahead of them all, the shape it will take, as clearly as if he's going to live it with them. Soon Edelgard will have the funeral she deserves, and Ferdinand the coronation. They will send for the surviving nobles from Faerghus and Leicester, and there will be bickering but afterwards there will be peace, and a united front to take into the shadows against Those Who Slither. And after that, all the things Hubert won't get to see, Dorothea learning, perhaps, to love someone again though there will never, ever be another Edelgard, and Petra taking her throne in Brigid, and Bernadetta so happy she glows despite how overwhelming the royal wedding Ferdinand will plan for her will surely be. Rebuilding, and restoring, and love, and peace, all the things Hubert isn't made for.

Hubert can also see, from up on the battlements where he can engage in his melancholy without being disturbed or fussed over, the approach of Lord Arundel with a number of carriages and a small army of his men, and he sighs. So much for the long, slow war in the shadows; it seems to have come directly to their door, well ahead of schedule.

-

There is no one in the throne room, and Hubert makes a note to praise Ferdinand later for his judgement. Hubert hadn't thought to discuss how they should handle important guests before the coronation; he has people spreading the rumor of Ferdinand's ascension to test the waters, but no official decisions or declarations have been made and to sit the throne now would look like a cheap power grab. Hubert follows the sound of, of all things, Dorothea singing to find Ferdinand and Byleth have taken Lord Arundel to a nearby meeting room. Dorothea is singing something bland and patriotic, rather brilliantly stalling for time, and Arundel looks a satisfying mix of bored and unhappy. Byleth, of course, is wearing his usual neutral, unreadable face, and Ferdinand is watching Dorothea as raptly as always, a sweet longing on his face that only appears for Dorothea's performances and Bernadetta. Not especially regal, but it's always good to be able to sell Ferdinand as a sentimental fool, easily played.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, my Lord," Hubert says, when she's finished. He offers no excuse, simply lets the silence stretch out awkwardly while Arundel waits. It's a cheap trick to nudge the power balance in the room to his favor, but a certain kind of noble falls for it every single time. Hubert smirks and takes his seat to Ferdinand's right. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I've come for the throne, of course," he says. "I assumed you would send for me once you returned from the battle, but it's been so long I thought there might be some trouble I could assist with. It seems as though you've done a fine job with whatever cleanup was slowing the process, though."

"You've come to do _what_ with the throne, exactly?" Hubert asks.

Arundel glances around the room, clearly confused by the question. He doesn't receive the clarification he's looking for, or the recognition that Hubert's acting strangely, just a patient smile from Ferdinand and blankness from the rest. 

"I'm the Emperor's last living relative," he says, slowly, like he's worried Hubert might have trouble understanding. 

"Only by marriage," Dorothea says. "A marriage that was dissolved, if I recall correctly? I’m not from a noble family so _please_ correct me if I’m wrong, but as I understand it one can’t be both Emperor consort of Adrestia and Queen of Faerghus by marriage at the same time."

"I'm still her uncle," Arundel says, with a sneer. The specifics of his relationship to Edelgard are irrelevant in terms of succession, with no closer relatives to contest it, but annoying Arundel is one of the few bright sides of having to deal with him and Hubert's quite glad Dorothea's here with her simpering idiot act. "I'm prepared to move in immediately, and would be happy with a quiet coronation ceremony so we can begin work as soon as possible."

"Oh," Hubert says, "that won't be necessary."

"You think a grand event wise, so soon after the war? I fear a show of excess - "

"You moving in," Hubert says, over him, "will not be necessary."

"Surely you don't intend to move the capitol quickly enough to - "

"The Emperor," Hubert says, raising his voice even further while Arundel's face goes red with indignation, "spent five years leading an army into battle to secure Fódlan's future. As I'm sure you can imagine, she spent some time carefully considering the question of who would take up her banner should she fall. Your name, oddly enough, never came up."

"Ah," Arundel says, and leans back in his chair. "Is this where you reveal she wanted her crown to go to her closest adviser, and most trusted friend? With, of course, no evidence, as her life was _tragically_ cut short before she could make it official."

"You'll want to watch how you speak of Edelgard and the tragedy of her loss in this room," Byleth says; he doesn't rise, but his hand is on his sword, as is Ferdinand's, and Hubert can feel the energy of Dorothea readying a spell tickling up his arms. They're less used to Arundel and the unpleasant, disdainful line he likes to walk when it comes to Edelgard. Good; he could use a reminder how much power sits just in this room, never mind with the rest of the Strike Force.

"I meant no offense," he says. "The question stands - are you making a claim to the throne, von Vestra?"

"Of course not," Hubert says, and slides a sheet of paper down the table to Arundel. "Simply passing on Her Majesty's final wishes."

Arundel reaches for the page warily, like it might become a snake and bite him any moment. It would be fitting, and satisfying, and quite honestly probably a little fun, but no. Hubert isn't finished with him yet. Ferdinand glances Hubert's way as soon as Arundel's attention is occupied, and Hubert makes another note to have a talk with him about maintaining a neutral face - the anxiety in his eyes is clear enough to alert even those who don't spend much time studying Ferdinand's expressions. Then again, Hubert rarely kept things from Edelgard that he would present right in front of her face, so perhaps he should be looking more closely at his own behavior.

There is barely a full paragraph to read and it's all quite standard but Arundel studies it for ages, as if it contains some secret he can use to walk from this room and straight to the throne. Of course no such secrets exist, and finally he sets Edelgard's sworn declaration of Ferdinand von Aegir as her successor to the throne back down on the table.

"Well," he says, eyes drifting around the table before landing on Ferdinand, "that's that, then. I suppose she must have seen how very like your father you are."

"I suppose so," Ferdinand says, so tense Hubert could conceivably snap him in two like a brittle twig, but his face and voice are neutral, almost pleasant. "I am sorry you have traveled so far to waste your time, please allow me to show you to some rooms for you and your people."

"My thanks," Arundel says, and rises. "But that won't be necessary."

"Very well," Ferdinand says, and stands as well. "Then if there's nothing else, I will show you out."

Arundel glances around the room again, and nods, and as soon as the two of them leave Byleth turns to Hubert.

"War room?" he asks.

"I'll go get everyone," Dorothea says, without giving him the chance to confirm; Hubert nods, and retrieves Edelgard's declaration, and makes his way to spend the rest of the afternoon in a tense, urgent strategy meeting.

-

The Strike Force departs several days before the bulk of the army, taking off in the dead of night to hunt down the small handful of agents Hubert knows the whereabouts of. By the time Arundel realizes, Randolph and Fleche will have marched the Imperial army, bolstered by the forces of a number of Faerghan and Alliance nobles whose loyalty Hubert isn't entirely sure of. It's not at all the way Hubert would prefer to fight this war, not the way he and Edelgard had planned for so long, but it's a solid strategy.

"I should be with them," Ferdinand says; Hubert doesn't entirely disagree, from a strategic angle. If not with the Strike Force, at least Ferdinand leading the visible army in its siege of Arundel's keep would do quite a lot for ensuring popular support for his taking the throne. But when Ferdinand began packing his things, the floor dropped out from under Hubert, and all he could see was Edelgard hitting the stone wall, propelled by the beast's massive tail, over and over and over again, sharp thwack and the crack of her spine and the unnatural angle of her neck when she hit the ground as if he'd seen it all up close and not from so far away on his horse. 

"There's work here we need to do," Hubert says. "And you're not especially suited for stealth with all that plate armor, anyway."

"I suppose not," Ferdinand says, and glances over to Bernadetta. "She is. I should not - I cannot be so selfish."

Hubert has no room to scold him, considering, and he had seen Ferdinand's face when Bernadetta went up on her toes to kiss him goodbye and set off with the rest. And this gives him time to teach her, train her in the art of protecting an Emperor who can't seem to say no to danger. The Strike Force has never failed, certainly not since Byleth's return, and they'll be fine. If nothing else, they have Dorothea, the one person as committed to achieving revenge for Edelgard as Hubert is himself.

"Edelgard's declaration," Ferdinand says, when the Strike Force has fully disappeared into the night and there are only stars to see. "Was it real?"

"I don't know of a forgery test that would prove otherwise," Hubert says, "and I know them all."

Ferdinand smiles a little, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"She didn't like to think about what might happened if she failed; she believed if there was no alternative to success, she would fight that much harder. I...was perhaps more swayed by that line of thinking than I should have been. She didn't need more motivation than she already had, and this was the first time in my life I can remember being caught without a backup plan. So, no, she didn't declare you her successor." 

"It does not matter, I suppose, I just - "

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think she would approve," Hubert says. "You've accused me often enough of being unable to so much as relieve myself without her blessing."

"That was a different me," Ferdinand says, but he's smiling for real this time, and he pats Hubert on the shoulder warmly before he goes to collect Bernadetta and head inside. She leans into him as they walk, absorbing his warmth, and Hubert can see the tension Ferdinand's been carrying in the days since Arundel came melt away from his shoulders as he murmurs to her. Hubert aches all the way down to his bones from emptiness; he breathes through it, teeth clenched, until the worst passes, and makes his way down to the crypt.

Hubert is loath to put Edelgard to rest next to the father who failed to keep her safe, or the empty urns representing her siblings when they served for so much of her life only as a tormented memory, so she still lies on the embalming table, waiting. Perhaps he can place an empty casket here as a memorial and quietly bury her somewhere she'd like. The spell his engineers used to preserve her will hold for some time, though, there is no hurry to decide.

"The real war has begun, my lady," he says. "It won't be long now. I will be by your side soon enough."

Hubert lifts her cold hand, presses a reverent kiss to it, and ascends the stairs to his office to set to work through the night. He has a war to win.

**Author's Note:**

> please come have ot3 feelings with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/funnwhimsy) or [tumblr](https://funandwhimsy.tumblr.com/)


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